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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926116">what comes after</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fungdi/pseuds/fungdi'>fungdi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Descriptions of gore, Dubious Morality, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Just normal Afterlife things, Loneliness, Minor Derealization, Minor Violence, No beta we die like... well., Tommy dies and learns how to cope with being dead, and moves in with two madmen while he’s at it, because of how I write the Afterlife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fungdi/pseuds/fungdi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tommy wants to yell. He wants to scream, and rage, and break things. He wants to hit a wall and feel his knuckles split, he wants to feel the satisfaction that comes with tearing grass out of the earth or shattering glass. He wants to set a fucking house on fire and watch it burn down to ash.</p><p>It’s not FAIR.</p><p>Tommy wants to cry, he’s so mad."</p><p>--</p><p>Also known as: Tommy in the Afterlife, what will he do?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbut Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what comes after</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a repost because I messed up when I published this yesterday, so we're trying this again. Sorry about that! </p><p>Anyways, this is just a whole bunch of self-indulgent hurt/comfort featuring maybe-nice Schlatt and a Wilbur who isn't hellbent on destroying everything, because I can- make sure you check the tags for tws, and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy sits up with a harsh, choking gasp, hands flying up to cover his face. He tries to speak, his throat spasms, and the only thing that comes out is a hoarse whisper. It hurts to talk. He mouths the words anyways.</p><p>
  <em> Dream, please, you’re gonna kill me- please, don’t- please- </em>
</p><p>...nothing happens. There’s no fist in his hair, there’s no bursting pain against his side or his face or his legs.</p><p>Tommy opens his eyes.</p><p>He’s not in the prison anymore.</p><p>Slowly, carefully, he lowers his arms. He sucks in a slow breath of air, looking around. He’s alone. He’s not in the prison.</p><p>...where is he?</p><p><em> Hello? </em> He tries to ask, but all that comes out is a cracked <em> ‘hhhel-? </em>’ He clears his throat, and tries again.</p><p>“He-llo?” there’s no answer. His voice echoes oddly in the space around him. Tommy hugs his knees to his chest, looking around. Everything’s bright, and pale, and washed-out. The ground is- he can’t quite tell what it is. One moment, it might be grass, and then it might be smooth tile. He blinks, and now it’s wood.</p><p>Everything’s grey.</p><p>It’s as if someone took a whole bunch of black-and-white photos of the world and layered them on top of each other, but they don’t exactly fit. Everything’s fuzzy and indistinct. Foggy. Like a haze has settled over the world.</p><p>
  <em> It’s like that one morning in L’Manberg- back when they lived in the camarvan- when a thick fog had rolled in, and Tommy ran around, chasing Tubbo and Fundy- </em>
</p><p>He takes a deep, stuttering breath, clutching at his knees. Memories <em> hurt. </em> Even the good ones.</p><p>Especially the good ones.</p><p>The worst part, he thinks, is that everyone was so <em> happy. </em> Tommy looks back, and remembers, and wonders where he fucked it all up. He shakes his head, trying to shove away the memories like a dog shakes off water.</p><p>Tommy scans the horizon. Everything’s fuzzy, but he can make out a little bit of detail. There are no buildings, but he can see sloping hills and foggy cliffs in the distance.</p><p>White sky. Gray shapes. And one boy, the only color in this empty expanse.</p><p>Tommy gets to his feet and begins walking.</p>
<hr/><p>There’s no real way to keep track of time. He walks, and walks, and walks, and the light never changes, and his feet don’t hurt. He’s not getting tired, even though he’s been walking for what feels like hours.</p><p>He takes a breath and holds it as he walks. His lungs don’t burn, his eyes don’t water. There’s no need to exhale, to take another breath in. Tommy does it anyways.</p><p>...Dream really killed him. He’s dead. Really, actually, dead, not the strange half-void feeling that comes between respawns.</p><p>He’s- he <em> can’t be. </em></p><p>It’s a relief and a punch in the gut, all at once.</p><p>He’s <em> dead. </em></p><p>Tommy drops to his knees, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Despite everything, it’s a relief to know that he can still cry.</p><p>He takes a deep, shuddering breath (out of habit, if nothing else), and sobs. He can feel the tears drip down his face. His nose runs. He’s always been a messy crier.</p><p>
  <em> He hates (hated-) it. Wilbur would always poke fun at him, and Tubbo always carried around an extra handkerchief, and it sucked, because he couldn’t cry quietly- unless he hid himself away, everyone knew he was upset. He hated their concern, their attention, because he didn’t want them to see him like that! He is (was-) a big man, he didn’t need their pity! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But now, there’s no one to hold him close anymore, and it aches- </em>
</p><p>He cries, and cries, and cries, and screams out into the emptiness. There’s no answer.</p><p>He’s dead. He’s dead and he left them all behind, and he’ll never see Tubbo again, and Dream killed him, and it’s all so <em> unfair- </em></p><p>Why did he have to die? He was gonna build his hotel, Sam Nook was waiting for him- it was <em> over, </em> it was all supposed to be <em> over, </em> he was supposed to have his happy ending and- and-</p><p>He just wants to go <em> home. </em>Why is that so difficult?</p><p>He sniffs, wiping at his face. His hands come away red.</p><p>Tommy chokes out a laugh. He can’t even fucking <em> cry </em> properly. He wipes his bloody hands off on his shirt, before scrubbing the rest of the blood off of his face. He just wanted to go home, and now he’ll never get that again.</p><p>Maybe he’ll just- sit here for a bit.</p><p>Yeah.</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy’s walking again, just to have something to do. To his left is a not-quite forest, foggy and indistinct. If he squints, he can see dark oak, then acacia, then birch, then jungle-spruce-oak. The trees are all layered on top of each other, different shapes blurring together.</p><p>Everything’s so horribly <em> grey </em>, and Tommy kicks at the ground.</p><p>“Is this it?” he grumbles. “Fuckin- fog and shit. Is that really all I get?”</p><p>As always, there’s no answer.</p><p>“Heeeeeeeeey!” Tommy yells.</p><p>He hates this. There’s nothing but grey, grey, and more grey, and everything’s hazy and blurry. If he could get a headache, he’d probably be suffering right now.</p><p>How long has it been? Days? <em> Weeks? </em></p><p>There are no nights here. He doesn’t get tired. He can’t even measure time with his heartbeat, because he <em> doesn’t have one anymore. </em></p><p>The only constants are the white light above him, the grey haze lingering over everything, and every stupid step he takes forwards.</p><p>What’s the fucking <em> point? </em></p><p>Tommy kicks the grass again. A moment later, it’s replaced with wooden planks. His next step crunches and thuds simultaneously, and he looks down to see grass growing <em> out </em>of the wood.</p><p>“Fuck you,” he snarls. Stubbornly, he keeps walking.</p><p>He’s bored, and he hates it.</p><p>“Is this hell?” he asks, to no one in particular. “At least gimme <em> fire </em> and shit.” Silence.</p><p>“Oiiiii!” Tommy yells. “Did you hear me, fucker?”</p><p>Again, no response. His lips curl into a snarl. Who’d even hear him, anyways?</p><p><em>Fuck this place.</em> <em>Fuck the fog, fuck the not-sun, fuck the flickering forest- ground- sky- whatever-the-fuck-it-is.</em></p><p>Tommy wants to yell. He wants to scream, and rage, and break things. He wants to hit a wall and feel his knuckles split, he wants to feel the satisfaction that comes with tearing grass out of the earth or shattering glass. He wants to set a fucking house on fire and watch it burn down to ash.</p><p>It’s not <em> FAIR. </em></p><p>Tommy wants to cry, he’s so mad.</p><p>He bites down the urge- Wilbur always said that he was too difficult, and Tubbo hates (hated-) it when he yelled over him, even though he was too nice to say anything, and he shouldn’t be loud. He shouldn’t.</p><p>And then he realizes- no one’s here to stop him.</p><p>He throws back his head and screams. He screams into the empty space, and his voice doesn’t crack, and his lungs don’t burn for air.</p><p>“Why?” He yells. “Why, why, WHY?!"</p><p>There’s no response, and so he keeps screaming, letting the anger blaze through him. He grabs handfuls of misty, not-quite-there grass, and rips it up, because he can.</p><p>It’s less satisfying, now that he can’t scream himself hoarse.</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy lays on the ground, arms over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to move. He takes in a breath of air out of habit, and holds it until he forgets what he’s doing on the floor. He exhales, and pretends to breathe again.</p><p>There’s no point to this.</p><p>Maybe he’ll just stay here until he doesn’t exist anymore. He’s already dead. He wonders if anyone will miss him.</p><p>Probably not.</p><p>Tubbo would, maybe? Or, no, he’s got Ranboo. Apparently they’ve got a <em> kid together, </em> for fuck’s sake- he thinks he remembers Sam mentioning it. Mitchell, or something. Tommy was gonna try and visit once he got out of the prison, but-</p><p>But.</p><p>If this is the afterlife, it must be a really shitty one, because he hasn’t seen Wilbur. Hell, he’d even take Mexican Dream at this point. Even fucking <em> Schlatt </em> would be better than this.</p><p>He’s tired.</p><p>Not <em> physically </em> tired, because Tommy knows that’s not a thing anymore, but <em> mentally </em> tired. He doesn’t want to move. He stops breathing again, because why the fuck not.</p><p>Maybe there will be a lake or something if he wanders far enough. He could just sink to the bottom and stay there. Would he even be able to feel the water? Or would it just be haze?</p><p>Or maybe there’s no lake at all and he’s lying to himself.</p><p>Tommy sucks in a breath of air without thinking, and then blinks. Oh. He wasn’t breathing.</p><p>Even with his eyes shut, and his forearm resting across his face, he can tell that it’s still bright. Just like it always is.</p><p>If Tommy could sleep, he would- just like one of those fairytales, he’d pass out and stay there until his body turns to stone, and flowers grow over his statue. He could <em> try, </em>he supposes- maybe if he lays still for long enough, the ground would swallow him up.</p><p>He just-</p><p>“Meow?”</p><p>
  <em> What. </em>
</p><p>Tommy bolts upright, glancing around frantically. <em> Please actually be a cat. Please be a cat and not a hallucination. Please. </em></p><p>“Mrrr-ow!”</p><p>There’s a cat. Right there. In front of him.</p><p>Tommy gapes at it, fingers twitching. There’s a <em> cat! </em> It’s not greyed out like everything else- it’s a warm cream and grey and brown, and Tommy wants to cry.</p><p>“Hello,” he breathes, soft.</p><p>“Mew,” the cat says. It brings up a paw and ducks its head to lick it, and Tommy can see a patch of bloody fur by the base of its head.</p><p>Tommy knows this cat.</p><p>He <em> knows </em> this cat, he <em> killed </em>this cat-!</p><p>Tommy doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the blood trickling down his face. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. He reaches out, but can’t bring himself to touch it. “I’m so fucking sorry-!”</p><p>He curls up, backing away from the cat. Apologies don’t <em> do </em> anything- “sorries” are meaningless-</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy-” </em>
</p><p>He shudders, gripping his hair. He grips the strands, pulling tight, and it doesn’t have the decency to hurt.</p><p>“I didn’t-” Tommy stops himself. He <em> did </em> mean to kill the cat. He <em> wanted </em> to hurt Dream. “I wish I didn’t do it,” he says instead. “Why’d I have to bring you into it- you were innocent! I wish I never hurt you.”</p><p>“Mrrr,” the cat trills, padding closer.</p><p>Tommy flinches away. “No, no- why aren’t you scared of me, you should hate me-”</p><p>“Mrrrrr!” The cat says, insistent, and rubs up against his legs.</p><p>Tommy buries his face in his knees and cries. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Mrrp?”</p><p>“...I’m <em> sorry. </em>”</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually, the tears stop. He wipes his face with bloody hands, and glances over. The cat’s still there.</p><p>“Mrr-ow!”</p><p>“...yeah?” Tommy asks. He doesn’t even know why he’s responding- the cat can’t understand him.</p><p>“Mrrrr,” it says. Tommy sighs.</p><p>As he watches, it turns and walks away. He lets his head fall onto his knees.</p><p>He wants the cat to stay- it’s the one thing that’s actually- well, not living, but- alive here. It’s like <em> him. </em> He doesn’t want it to go, but he can’t bring himself to try and make it stay.</p><p>The cat has every right to leave- Tommy <em> hurt </em> it, he <em> killed it. </em>He shouldn’t be upset over this. He bites his lip, and his eyes water. It serves him right- all he ever did was hurt people. Why should he get companionship here? He doesn’t deserve it.</p><p>He misses his family. His friends. Every step he takes in this strange place etches their names deeper into his heart, and it feels like it’s pulling him apart.</p><p>He remembers a compass, needle pointing steadily <em> home </em> , towards his brother in all but name. His best friend. His other half. <em> Tubbo, </em> his heart cries, and he squeezes his eyes shut. <em> Tubbo, I miss you, Tubbo. </em></p><p>Tommy curls his knees to his chest, gripping them with shaky hands. Why did he drive everyone away? Why can’t he-</p><p>“Meow!”</p><p>Tommy blinks. There, a few feet away, the cat is sitting, watching him expectantly.</p><p>“...what now?” Tommy asks. “Go away.”</p><p>“Meow!”</p><p>“<em> What? </em> ” <em> Just leave me alone. </em></p><p>The cat walks towards him, nudging his knee, before turning around and padding away. It pauses, glancing over its shoulder. “Mrrp!” It chirps.</p><p>“Okay,” Tommy sighs. He gets to his feet, letting the cat lead him deeper into the fog.</p>
<hr/><p>They walk for a while, silent. The cat seems content to lead Tommy somewhere, and he doesn’t want to bother it.</p><p>For the first time since waking up here, he can hear a set of footsteps other than his own. It’s comforting, and Tommy swallows the lump in his throat.</p><p>He missed this- the quiet presence of another being, the soft sounds of movement, the warmth of fur or skin or feathers brushing across his fingertips.</p><p>He didn’t realize how lonely it was to be dead.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, again. The cat pauses, rubbing against his ankles with a soft purr. He can’t bring himself to reach down and pet it.</p><p>It trots ahead, and Tommy follows behind it.</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually, they arrive at- well. Tommy wants to say it’s a village, but he blinks and the cobblestone is replaced by spruce. He blinks again and it’s dirt. It’s a village, and then it’s New L’Manberg, and then it’s his dirt shack, and then he spots greyed out blackstone and concrete and rips his gaze away.</p><p>“Where are we?” he asks.</p><p>The cat sits down, staring up at him. “Mrrrrr,” it trills.</p><p>Tommy kneels down, carefully reaching out a hand. A cold nose brushes against it, and he can feel small puffs of air as it smells him. He wants to cry.</p><p>“Mew,” it says, butting its head into his hand.</p><p>“Hey,” Tommy says, blinking back tears. “Hey.”</p><p>He smooths his hand over its head, through the wet patch of blood, down its back and brushing over its tail. It starts to purr, a low rumble deep in its chest. It’s nice. Tommy rests his hand carefully on its shoulders, feeling the warmth and the soft vibrations.</p><p>The cat looks up at him. “Mew,” it says.</p><p>The warmth beneath his hand starts to fade. Tommy freezes, horror bleeding into his frozen heart. “Wait- no-”</p><p>The cat pads into his lap, purring. As he watches, the warm cream and grey and brown fade, turning into shimmering white-silver. It looks like Ghostbur did, sometimes, after being caught in the rain.</p><p>“No, no, no, don’t leave me!” His hands hover over it, too scared to touch, as if that’d make it disappear fully.</p><p>The cat purrs harder, butting its head into his chest, before dissolving into silver light.</p><p>Tommy chokes on a sob. “No-!”</p><p>His hands close on empty air. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”</p><p>He closes his eyes. “...please.”</p><p>There’s no response.</p><p>He’s alone again.</p><p>Tommy takes a deep breath, and <em> screams </em>, hunching over on himself. Blood drips down his cheeks.</p><p>He doesn’t want to be alone again. He <em> can’t </em> be alone again. He grips his knees until his knuckles turn white, breathing heavily, even though he doesn’t need to. It hurts. It hurts so much, and why can’t <em> he </em> do that, too? Just… disappear.</p><p>He’s already dead, so why can’t it just be <em> over? </em></p><p>Footsteps step-crunch-thud across the ground, and Tommy freezes.</p><p>“Who is it this time,” a familiar voice sighs, and Tommy jerks, whipping his head up to look around.</p><p>“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, just as a figure appears in the village-town-fog.</p><p>Wilbur’s eyes are wide. He looks horrified. “...Tommy?” he croaks out.</p><p>Tommy feels a bloody tear slip down his face. “Hey, Wil.”</p><p>There’s a moment of stillness, and then Wilbur is rushing forwards, crushing Tommy in a hug. “Oh, God, <em> Tommy, </em>” Wilbur breathes. Tears soak into Tommy’s shoulder. Wilbur takes a gasping breath, pulling him closer. “Tommy,” he says, a plea and a welcome all in one.</p><p>He is- not breathing, his heart doesn’t beat, his chest is still- but he’s <em> warm </em>, and Tommy curls into his brother’s embrace, letting himself be held.</p>
<hr/><p>After a moment, Wilbur lets out his last shuddering breath, wiping at his face. “What… what <em> happened </em> to you?”</p><p>Tommy bites his lip.</p><p>“You <em> won, </em> you got the disks back and put Dream in jail- you said it was over.” Wilbur grips his shoulders, brow furrowed. “Why are you <em> here? </em>”</p><p>Tommy opens his mouth to say the words- <em> Dream killed me in prison </em>- but they get stuck in his throat, and he just shakes his head.</p><p>Wilbur takes a deep breath. “Okay. ...Okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Tommy <em> wants </em> to tell him, that’s the thing. “I…”</p><p>Wilbur shakes his head at him. “I shouldn’t have pushed, Tommy. It’s fine.”</p><p>...Tommy’s almost relieved by that. He is. Is he? He wants Wilbur to know, but he doesn’t want to <em> tell </em> him. He doesn’t want to see the pity on his face, he just wants to be held again.</p><p>Maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s childish, but Tommy misses his brother’s hugs.</p><p>He wants another one, wants Wilbur to hold him close and never let go. Instead, he pulls away, stretching his legs out across the ground.</p><p>“So,” Tommy says. “Where the fuck are we, anyways?”</p><p>Wilbur chokes on a laugh.</p>
<hr/><p>Wilbur brings him into the village-town-city, between half-made buildings and cobble-wood-stone. It’s still so horribly grey, and Tommy drags his feet.</p><p>“Well?” he asks. “What is this place?”</p><p>Wilbur hums, glancing around before turning left. Tommy follows him. “Well, I don’t really know,” Wil says. “I haven’t been here that long. This is the Afterlife, I suppose, capital ‘A’. It’s where souls linger before they pass on, or whatever.”</p><p>Tommy frowns. “So… why are you here? You said that you didn’t want to come back, so why linger?”</p><p>Wilbur glances back at him, brow furrowed. “...because I didn’t want you to be here alone after you died,” he says, voice thin. “I...” he trails off.</p><p>For the second time in Tommy’s life (Afterlife-), he hears the uncertainty in Wil’s voice.</p><p>“...I didn’t think it’d be this soon.” Wilbur says.</p><p>“Neither did I, big man,” Tommy says. “...neither did I.”</p>
<hr/><p>Wilbur leads him to a greyed out house-cabin-building, a blue sheet fluttering over the empty doorway. Tommy blinks at the color.</p><p>Wilbur pauses, making a face. “...you might want to wait here a bit,” he says.</p><p>“What- why?” Tommy asks, but Wil’s already striding towards the building, pulling open the sheet.</p><p>“Get <em> up </em>, you drunkard- it’s Tommy!”</p><p>He blinks. You can <em> sleep </em> in this stupid place?</p><p>“You can’t call me a drunkard- I can’t even <em> get </em> drunk in this fuckin’ place!” Tommy freezes. He knows that voice. He absolutely does not want to hear that voice <em> ever again. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Why don’t you go ask him yourself and find out?” </em>
</p><p>Tommy doesn’t even realize he’s walking towards the house before he pushes past Wilbur, staring Schlatt dead in the eyes.</p><p>“The resurrection book,” he blurts out. “Was it real? Did you give it to Dream?” He’s shaking.</p><p>Schlatt sits up from where he was slouched against the wall. He looks concerned. Tommy watches his eyes, his hands, his shoulders.</p><p>“Well?” he asks. He’s shaking. Something trickles down the side of his head, and he spares it a passing thought before he refocuses on the ex-dictator.</p><p>“Uh, Tommy, you…” Schlatt starts, hands outstretched.</p><p>“<em> Was the book real? Did you give it to Dream? </em>”</p><p>Schlatt sighs. “...yeah, kid,” he says. “It’s real.”</p><p>Tommy laughs. Of-fucking-course. Of course it’s real- and now Tommy died for <em> nothing, </em> because Dream still has something to dangle over their heads. He laughs, and laughs, and doesn’t need to take breaths to interrupt it, so he keeps laughing until he starts to cry.</p><p>Warm arms wrap around him, pulling him close. “Shhh, Tommy, it’s alright.”</p><p>“It’s <em> not, </em>” Tommy chokes out.</p><p>Wilbur pulls him closer. “You’re safe now,” he says. “It’s over. You can rest.”</p><p>“No,” Tommy mumbles. “He’s- he’s gonna bring me back. I know he is.”</p><p>Wilbur hums in response, rubbing circles into Tommy’s back.</p><p>“He- I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t believe the book was real-” stop talking. “but he- he told me to ask Schlatt myself-” <em> that’s enough! </em> he tells himself, but the words spill out faster than he can follow, “and he- he wouldn’t stop hitting me, and I- I asked him to stop. I begged him to stop and he- fucking- he <em> beat me to death in that fucking prison! </em>”</p><p>Tommy freezes. He didn’t mean to say all of that. And, God, he can’t even imagine what Wilbur looks like right now- would he be disgusted? Pitying? Or, worst of all, would he just brush it off?</p><p>“Oh, <em> Tommy. </em>”</p><p>Tommy flinches, curling into his brother’s chest.</p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Tommy freezes. That’s not… what? “What?”</p><p>Wilbur takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”</p><p>“S’not your fault,” Tommy mumbles.</p><p>Wilbur just holds him tighter. It feels nice.</p>
<hr/><p>“So what’s the deal with Schlatt- don’t you hate him?” Tommy asks.</p><p>“I’m right here,” Schlatt grumbles, before taking a long drink from his bottle.</p><p>“Oh, absolutely,” Wilbur says. His lips are curled in disgust. “But you can’t hurt each other here- believe me, I’ve tried.”</p><p>Schlatt scoffs. “It only took him five tries before he gave up. What a fucking idiot- try and strangle a dead man, see what happens.”</p><p>Wilbur’s face twitches. His cheeks flush red in embarrassment, and he snarls. “Oh, <em> fuck you. </em>”</p><p>“You wish, pretty boy!” Schlatt cackles, taking another drink. Wilbur rolls his eyes.</p><p>Tommy blinks at them. The atmosphere here’s surprisingly friendly- it’s almost enough to make him forget what they did. To each other, to <em> him </em>-</p><p>(Wilbur, with his manic grins and wild eyes, speaking quickly, letting his words cut down to the bone- and Schlatt, with his laughter and his cruelty, and his surprises and the <em> festival-) </em></p><p>“You had Tubbo executed,” Tommy says. He feels cold.</p><p>Schlatt places his bottle down, sitting up from where he’s slouched in a pile of blankets. “I did, yeah.”</p><p>Tommy grits his teeth. “That’s <em> it? </em>”</p><p>“What do you want from me, kid?” Schlatt snaps. “Remorse? A fuckin’ sob story? Yeah, I had Tubbo killed. So what?”</p><p>“S-<em> So what? </em> That’s my <em> friend! </em> I watched him fucking die because of you!” He lunges forwards, only to be stopped by Wilbur’s hand on his shoulder. “Let me <em> go! </em>”</p><p>Schlatt stands up, and he isn’t tall, but his very presence fills the room, and Tommy shrinks back. “He was a spy,” he says, harsh. “He conspired with the <em> very people </em> who laid TNT beneath my country- we were in the middle of a <em> cold war. </em> I had him killed, and I laughed about it, because you were all too <em> stupid </em>to see it coming.”</p><p>“You- <em> fuck you! </em>”</p><p>One corner of Schlatt’s mouth twists into a crooked smile. “Is that the best you’ve got?” He glances behind Tommy. “C’mon, Wil, let ‘im loose!”</p><p>The hand on his shoulder disappears, and Tommy lashes out, fist slamming into the bastard’s face.</p><p>Schlatt coughs, staggering back, and Tommy lunges. He knocks the goat to the floor, pinning him down and punching him again. Schlatt’s laughing, and Tommy rears back to hit him a third time.</p><p>He’s so fucking <em> angry- </em></p><p>“Alright, that’s enough,” Wil says, pulling him off. Schlatt sits up, propping himself up with his arms. He doesn’t even look hurt.</p><p>“Wha- you- let me go!” Tommy tries to struggle away from his brother’s grip. “Lemme- fuck you, Schlatt! You fucking- you…” Tommy chokes on a sob. “You <em> killed </em> him.”</p><p>Schlatt stands up, dusting off his dress shirt and straightening his tie. “I dunno if this’ll make you feel any better, but I was always planning on killing him.”</p><p>Tommy freezes, and next to him, Wilbur is eerily still. “What?”</p><p>“I’m not an idiot,” Schlatt sneers. “I knew from the beginning that he’d go running after you- s’why I kept him close. He was a hostage dressed as my right-hand man, and when I needed to hurt you, I’d take one of his lives. As a statement.”</p><p>“What the <em> fuck, </em> ” Tommy breathes. “That’s so- that’s so fucked up! That is <em> wrong </em>with you?”</p><p>“It’s <em> effective,” </em> he says. “Seperate the enemy, demoralize them, cut the weakest link.” He picks up his bottle, swishing around whatever’s inside. “...I almost regret it. Kid was doing his best, even if he was a traitor.”</p><p>Tommy sees red. What gives him the <em> right-? </em></p><p>Next to him, Wilbur starts laughing. “You twisted bastard,” he says, admiringly, “you had us all figured out from the beginning, didn’t you?”</p><p>Schlatt raises his bottle in a mocking salute, before taking a harsh gulp. “Surprised, Wilbur?” he asks, and Wilbur grins in response- wild, joyous, with a hint of the mania Tommy remembers from Before.</p><p>They’re <em> laughing. </em> Both of them. Tubbo was <em> executed, </em>and they’re-</p><p>Tommy feels sick. He doesn’t even bother to say anything before he’s ducking out of the house, disappearing into the blurry city.</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy wanders the misty streets, hugging himself tightly. He’s such an idiot- it was so <em> easy </em> to believe that Wilbur changed after he died. That he’d- somehow- returned to being the man he called ‘brother’, not the madman wearing a familiar smile.</p><p>It’s scarier, because he didn’t see it until it was staring him in the face. Earlier, he even let Wilbur <em> hug </em> him. He doesn’t need to breathe, but his breath is coming in shallow pants, as his body dredges up the memory of panic. The image of warm arms around him twists from a comfort into a prison. He shudders.</p><p>It <em> hurts, </em> to miss someone and hate them in the same breath, and the fragments of hope now cut into his heart. He thought Wilbur was <em> different, </em> that he’d be <em> better. </em></p><p>Blood trickles down his cheeks again, and he sniffs. He dashes away the tears, scrubbing a hand over his face and-</p><p>oh.</p><p>That’s. That’s a lot of blood. Tommy traces the feeling back into his hair, where his fingers dip <em> down </em>, and brush something sharp and jagged.</p><p>He yanks his hand away, breathing heavily. That’s- that’s his- he-</p><p>
  <em> Nope! He’s not thinking about it. Absolutely not. </em>
</p><p>“Tommy?” The voice echoes oddly in the mist, but he knows Wilbur’s voice when he hears it. Tommy’s heart doesn’t beat, but he can imagine it pounding in his chest. He can’t let Wilbur find him. He <em> can’t. </em> He runs, feet pounding on the blurry ground, ducking between buildings.</p><p>“Tommy, wait!”</p><p>He makes a sharp left, skidding into an alleyway. Like <em> hell </em> he’ll wait.</p><p>“Tommy!”</p><p>Wilbur’s voice is fainter now, but Tommy still runs. He’s not getting tired, he doesn’t need to gasp for air, so he runs and runs until he reaches the edge of the town, and hides inside a misty building. Wilbur fell behind a while ago, so maybe he won’t find him here. He takes a breath to steady himself (even though he doesn’t need it-), and presses back into a wall.</p><p>His hands are shaking.</p><p>It’s all too much- being stuck here, Wilbur’s madness, the fucking <em> hole in his head- </em> he slides down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.</p><p>He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home, he wants to finish the hotel and have Sam Nook ruffle his hair, he wants to meet Tubbo’s kid and yell at Ranboo to be a good husband <em> or else, </em> he wants to- t-to-</p><p>He’s crying again, and he clamps a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs. Blood drips down the side of his face, from his eyes and his nose, trickling over his hand.</p><p>He <em> just </em> got his discs back, too- he wants to sit on the bench with Tubbo and play Cat, and watch one more sunset.</p><p>He wants, and wants, and <em> wants, </em> and it tears at him in a way exile never did. At least when he was stuck out there, there was hope he could go <em> home. </em> It’s- it really is like exile all over again, only he’s stuck here forever, with Wilbur insead of Dream, and Tommy doesn’t know which one will hurt worse.</p><p>The thought of an eternity spent <em> wanting, </em> of shattering himself for something that’ll never happen, makes him cry even more.</p><p>Dream would bring him back. Wouldn’t he? It’s been- weeks? A month? More than that? Tommy weighs the options next to each other- staying here, or going back to Dream- and the answer makes him bark out a despairing laugh between sobs.</p><p>Dream hurt him, he killed him, and the thought of going back to the prison makes his hands tremble, but. If he goes back to the prison, there’s a way <em> out </em> of the prison. It’s been at least a week, he can suck it up and deal with it while he waits for Sam to let him out. And then he’d never have to see Dream again, he could go and see everyone again- but it’s been <em> months, </em> and he still hasn’t been revived.</p><p>Does he- he needs a book, doesn’t he? And nothing’s allowed in the prison. Tommy bites his lip, thinking. They’d have to let Dream out to revive Tommy. And that- that’s what does it.</p><p>Sam won’t let Dream out. He <em> shouldn’t </em> let Dream out. Tommy won’t be revived.</p><p>...he’s stuck here. Forever.</p><p>He swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s okay,” he tells himself. “He’s still stuck in there- he’ll be staying in there. Forever. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”</p><p>Isn’t it?</p><p>There’s a knock at the door, and Tommy flinches. “...Tommy?”</p><p>It’s Wilbur. Of <em> course </em> it’s Wilbur, and he clutches his knees tighter.</p><p>“Tommy, I know you’re in there,” Wilbur says. His voice is so stupidly gentle, and Tommy hates it. It’s a lie, it always has been, because this Wilbur isn’t gentle- he’s volatile, and sharp, and he cuts you to the bone with his words before leaving you hollow.</p><p>“Go <em> away, </em>” he says.</p><p>“Tommy-”</p><p>“Shut <em> up! </em>”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says, not shutting up. “I scared you in there, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to, Tommy, I really didn’t.”</p><p>Tommy reaches up and clamps his hands over his ears, the fingers on his left hand brushing against bloody, matted hair and the sharp fragments of his skull. Wilbur keeps speaking through the door, but it’s muffled, and Tommy can drown it out. He curls in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut.</p><p>It’s fine. Wilbur will give up eventually.</p><p>Only he doesn’t, and there’s the muffled sound of a door opening and closing, and there’s a ragged gasp.</p><p>“Oh, God, what- what <em> happened </em> to you?”</p><p>Tommy cracks an eye open, and sees Wilbur in front of him, brows furrowed and eyes shining with tears. He reaches a hand out, and Tommy flinches back.</p><p>(The walls around them warp from terracotta to blackstone, and Tommy can’t help the way that he trembles.)</p><p>“Dont-” he manages, gripping his knees so his hands don’t shake. “...don’t.”</p><p>“Okay,” Wilbur says.</p><p>Tommy watches him, waiting for the moment Wilbur will try again. That’s the thing with Wilbur, he never <em> listens, </em> always convinced he’s in the right. Even when he’s not. <em> Especially </em> when he’s not. Wil crouches down, carefully out of reach.</p><p>His kindness <em> hurts, </em>because it has to be a lie.</p><p>“How- how can I help you, Tommy?”</p><p>“Leave me <em> alone, </em>” Tommy says.</p><p>Wilbur sighs. “...okay,” he says. “I’ll be outside if you need me, alright?”</p><p>Tommy jerks his head in a nod. <em> Please just let him leave. </em></p><p>Wilbur hesitates a bit, hands lifted as if he wants to reach out, before he shakes himself and gets to his feet. With one last glance at Tommy, he leaves, gently shutting the door behind him.</p><p>Tommy scrubs at the blood on his face, wiping it away with his shirt. He eyes the door. Wilbur’s probably hovering right next to it, the prick. He stands up slowly, being as quiet as he can. He listens for a bit, but there’s no sound from outside.</p><p>He slips out of the window, leaving Wilbur behind.</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy spends the next few days roaming the city, avoiding any and all attempts Wilbur makes at getting close.</p><p>At least Wilbur seems to learn- after ‘day 3’, or whatever feels like three days, he stops trying to speak to him, only sitting next to Tommy, quiet. ‘Day 5’ marks when Wilbur stops trying to approach him altogether, only watching from afar with sorrowful eyes.</p><p>Tommy runs back to Wilbur’s apartment, tiptoeing past where Schlatt sleeps on his couch- how the fuck do you even <em> sleep, </em> here?- to steal a blanket.</p><p>He ends up making a home near the edge of the city, bundled in a corner and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wilbur’ll get tired of waiting eventually, and then he’ll try and talk to him again.</p><p>Tommy isn’t ready to see him. Ever.</p><p>He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, staring blankly at the ever-changing room. He tries his best to ignore how lonely he is. It’s like when he first arrived here, and wandered for maybe a month in that grey wilderness. The only difference is that there <em> are </em> people here, it’s just that they’re shitty people.</p><p>His mind drifts back to the cat. He misses it- it never hurt him, or talked to him, or tried to force itself into his life. He remembers its soft footsteps, its gentleness, and the way it just- disappeared. He lets go of the blanket with one hand, holding it out in front of him and staring at his palm.</p><p>If he squints, he can imagine it fading, glowing silver and shimmering into nothingness. Would it hurt? Or would it be gentle?</p><p>There’s a sharp rap on his door.</p><p>“Go away, Wilbur,” Tommy says, not looking away from his hand.</p><p>There’s a scoff from outside. “Boy, do I have a surprise for you, kid.”</p><p>Tommy jolts, shooting upright. The blanket falls off his shoulders and pools on the floor. “What the fuck do you want, bitch?”</p><p>“You’re not gonna let me in?”</p><p>“Fuck you- no!” Even though Schlatt can’t see him, Tommy crosses his arms. “What do you want?”</p><p>Schlatt lets out an aggravated sigh. “There’s some things you gotta know about being dead, kid. Since you’re not speaking to Wilbur, he made the stupid fucking descidion to send me instead. Now are you gonna let me in? I don’t wanna have to shout through the door.”</p><p>Tommy scowls. “Too bad, you’re stuck out there, bitch!”</p><p>Schlatt snorts, but doesn’t try to pull on the handle. (Tommy’s horribly relieved.) “Alright, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once. This is a liminal space, you know what that is?”</p><p>“A <em> what? </em> Speak English, man!”</p><p>“I <em> am speaking- </em> ” Schlatt cuts himself off. “A liminal space is somewhere people aren’t meant to linger, like a fuckin’- store or some shit. A train station. Whatever. It’s designed for people to <em> pass through, </em> you get it?”</p><p>“So what?”</p><p>“<em> So, </em> you have two choices. You linger anyways- maybe you don’t wanna disappear just yet, maybe you wanna wait for someone- or you pass on.” There’s a low thud as Schlatt leans against his side of the door.</p><p>“Pass on to <em> where? </em> You’re being so fucking vague, man! What happens next?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Schlatt says, and Tommy frowns. “All we <em> do </em> know is that once you pass on, you don’t come back. Dead for good, and all that.”</p><p>Tommy shudders. The image of silver lines twist through his head, and he gulps. He really fucking does not want that. He’d be gone forever. He can’t just- he doesn’t want to-</p><p>“Kid, you there?"</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>Schlatt laughs. “Good to see you still have spirit.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck you.”</p><p>“Is that the only word you know?” Schlatt asks, and Tommy opens his mouth to start listing all of the curses he <em> does </em> know, but he starts talking again. “Anyways, one other thing. Don’t get upset too often.”</p><p>“...what?”</p><p>“It messes with your soul, kid. We all saw you crying blood, and Wilbur said that he saw the huge fucking crack in your skull.”</p><p>Self-consciously, Tommy reaches up to press where the hole was, but he only feels hair.</p><p>“When you get- angry, sad, scared, whatever- it manifests, right? And the more you manifest that, the more those things linger. Wilbur’s got a scab that’ll never heal, and I’m fucking tired all the time. We don’t want to push it, but eventually it’ll end up killing us again if we let it.”</p><p>Schlatt clicks his tongue. “You don’t want to be stuck with a bloody nose, or a permanent hole in your head- it’s ugly as hell, and Wilbur would actually find a way to kill me. Anyways.” There’s an awkward pause. “That’s it, that’s the speech, don’t do anything stupid. Bye, kid.”</p><p>Tommy can hear Schlatt stand up and walk away, and for some reason he feels inexplicably lonely. Schlatt’s <em> evil, </em> he killed Tubbo, but Tommy can’t find it in himself to be glad that he’s gone.</p><p>He stands alone in his house, picking up the blanket and holding it in his hands. He rubs it between his fingers, before glancing at the door.</p><p>“Fuck it,” he says to himself, before stepping outside.</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy knocks on the wall- Wilbur’s house doesn’t really have a door, and he’s definitely not gonna walk in until he’s sure he wants to make this decision.</p><p>The blanket gets pulled to the side, and Wilbur stares at him, wide-eyed. “...hey, Tommy,” he says, smiling weakly.</p><p>“...hey.” Tommy’s so fucking nervous. This is probably a bad idea- no, it’s definitely a bad idea, but he’s so lonely that he can’t bring himself to care. “Can I move in?”</p><p>“...what?”</p><p>“Can I. Move in.” Tommy repeats, fidgeting with the blanket nervously.</p><p>“I- yeah, of course, but are you sure you wanna- um.”</p><p>Tommy laughs, the tiniest bit of hysteria creeping into his voice. “Not really, no.”</p><p>Wilbur eyes him. “...you don’t have to-”</p><p>“I want to,” Tommy says, and that’s what does it. Wilbur steps back, pulling open the blanket and letting Tommy in.</p><p>It’s strange, seeing Wil this hesitant. Strangely enough, that’s what convinced Tommy to go for it. Wilbur might have been awful, but he’s at least trying, and Tommy’s too lonely to care about everything else.</p><p>“Welcome home, Tommy,” Wilbur says. He steps back, giving Tommy space.</p><p>“Yeah.” Tommy says. “Guess I’m home.”</p>
<hr/><p>Tommy sprawls out on soft blankets, staring at the grey of the ceiling. In the corner, Schlatt and Wilbur are keeping out of the way, playing a game of cards.</p><p>It’s not awful here, he supposes. He’s dead, sure- and it fucking sucks, it hurts every time he thinks about it- but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He takes a breath out of habit, feeling the ache press against the inside of his ribs, burn the back of his throat, prickle beneath his eyes.</p><p>He’s dead. And this will be his home for the rest of his life. His Afterlife.</p><p>He frowns, mulling over the thought in his head. The idea of ‘passing on’ still fills him with unnamable dread, prickling down his shoulders and running through his spine. He’s not ready for that yet. He wants to say he’ll <em> never </em>be ready, even if this place bores him out of his mind.</p><p>(“You <em> cheated, </em>” Wilbur says, offended. Schlatt cackles, throwing down the rest of his cards.)</p><p>Tommy sighs out a breath, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. He can make this work. He <em> will </em> make this work, and he’ll- he’ll be here to welcome whoever shows up later. If they want to see him. He’ll be here.</p><p>The ceiling twists and blurs, spruce becoming cobble, cobble becoming oak, oak becoming concrete. He watches the patterns shift, idly trying to guess what’ll appear next before it shifts again. It’s oddly calming.</p><p>(“Another round?”</p><p>“I can’t let a cheater win, can I? <em> I’m </em> dealing this time-”)</p><p>For the first time in years, Tommy knows peace.</p><p>A thought occurs to him, then, and he blinks. “Wait, where’s Mexican Dream?”</p><p>Both Schlatt and Wilbur wince.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, I started writing this on the 2nd, but then Tommy just- actively ce-canonized it, so this is an AU now.</p><p>I reject canon and substitute my own, where we actually get the comfort in hurt/comfort. There's a part 2 planned (aptly named "departure"), but don't expect that anytime soon? This first bit is intended to stand alone, and the second bit is more of me just playing with characters and wrapping up loose ends (and killing off c!Dream while I'm at it-). This is more of a side project than anything else while I work on my main fic :D</p><p>(Also, I didn't really proofread this, so now there are spots that I wanna go back and fix, whoops)</p><p>That being said, y'all should go look at my other work "second chances (hurt the most)" where I take the headcannon that characters need to sacrifice a life to bring people back, and add that to the fact that c!Phil is EXTREMELY guilty over Wilbur's death, so he'd absolutely die to resurrect his son. And THEN I use it to force our favorite arsonist into the messiest redemption arc y'all have ever seen, so. There's that :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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